Candles
by agrajagthetesty
Summary: The library is dark and silent, the last few candles guttering low and feeble among bulging pools and drips of wax. A series of ten EdScieszka shorts. Now complete.
1. Who Else

**Who Else**

She notices, little by little, piece by piece, that he is acting differently today. It is nothing that she would have picked up on if it weren't for her almost flawless memory and the sheer amount of time she has spent watching him by now- she has, over time, formed a reasonably three-dimensional image of him in her head- but it gradually occurs to her now, looking thoughtfully at him from behind her desk, that he has begun to act in a way that differs from this image.

For a start, he has been frowning more. She knows from experience that he tends by nature to frown often, whenever he is annoyed or concentrating hard, and it is not unusual for his brows to dip a little lower and together when he is studying- as he has been doing all day- but she notices that even when he is resting, or walking between the bookcases, the expression remains on his face.

Sneaking looks at him around the piles of books that are heaped high upon both his desk and hers, she sees that he has also been letting his concentration slip more often that normal, sitting up and leaning back in his chair for a few seconds at a time, eyes closed and expression weary and discontented- and that when he does so, he rests his right hand upon the table and raises the left to his face, rubbing his temples and forehead restlessly.

Soon he gets up once more, and disappears behind one of the bookcases in search of more research material. She too stands, leaving the room for a moment to fetch what she now knows she needs to.

She has been settled back at her desk for a while before he returns to where he has been studying, a pile of fresh books under his arm.

He stops short, and the frown drops off his face to be replaced with a look of surprise as he sees the glass of water and two painkillers waiting on the table for him. "What-"

"For your headache," she says without looking up from her novel.

He glances at her, startled. "How did you-"

She looks up then, smiling at him over the pages of her book. "I have to keep an eye on you, Edward. After all, if I don't look after you when you're in here, who else will?

* * *

_Author's notes: I have recently decided that Ed/Scieszka is teh love. This series aims to illustrate that. X3_


	2. Fact

**Fact**

"Do you love him?" Scieszka asks, so suddenly that Winry jumps, and a few bolts fall from out of her hands onto the kitchen floor.

The mechanic doesn't move to pick them up, however, staring at her friend in surprise. "What?"

Now Scieszka is beginning to blush. "Do you love him?" she repeats, twisting her fingers together agitatedly. "That is, because. . . I think I should know, do you see? If you do."

Winry's face creases with confusion. "Scieszka, what are you talking about?"

"I heard some people talking," the dark-haired girl admits, her face by now a deep shade of pink. "In the village. They were talking about you and him, and I just wondered if it's true. Do you love him?"

"Who?" Winry asks, although she suspects that she already knows the answer. People are far too observant for her liking these days.

"Edward," Scieszka says.

"Oh. Um."

There is a short pause while Scieszka gazes expectantly at Winry, and Winry, flushed and a little taken aback, looks off to one side.

"Well, I . . . Yes," Winry says eventually. "Yes, of course I do. We've been best friends since forever."

"That's not what I meant," the other girl says quietly, "and I'm pretty sure that's not what those people in the village meant either."

Stunned into silence, Winry stares at her friend. Scieszka is being oddly direct with her personal questions today.

After a long moment, Scieszka looks away. "Sorry. I mean, it's your business, after all-"

"No," Winry says. "I mean, yes, it is my business, but no, it's not inappropriate to ask."

Scieszka looks up once again. "Not even a little?"

"Maybe a little," Winry relents. "But that's alright. We're friends, after all."

Scieszka nods, relieved.

"It's weird, actually," the mechanic says, looking thoughtfully at the few bolts that she still holds in her hand. "From the way everyone behaves, you'd think half the population of Amestris had seen Ed and I kissing or something. People just assume . . ."

"Does it bother you?" Scieszka asks curiously.

Winry's focus snaps back to the present, and she chuckles. "Not really. Not even half as much as it bothers him."

Scieszka thinks about this.

"I don't really mind people jumping to false conclusions," Winry says conversationally. "It's when they start acting like those conclusions are fact that I get annoyed, you know?"

And, finally, she stoops to pick up the rest of the bolts from the floor. Scieszka stares, not really seeing, the blonde girl's words going round and round in her mind.

Winry gathers the bolts together in the palm of her hand and observes them thoughtfully, shaking them from side to side so that they knock gently against each other. Then she swivels on the tiles to peer up at the other girl. "Why do you ask, anyway, Scieszka? Do _you_ love him?" she says teasingly, laughing.

Scieszka lowers her gaze. "I'm not too sure," she says softly.

Winry really doesn't know what to say to that.


	3. Fiction

**Fiction**

If she is totally honest with herself, she has to admit that he is not the sort of person she always imagined herself with. During her childhood, countless romance books had served to teach her exactly what to expect in her love life. She had not searched for anyone- the novels had taught her that certain people are destined to meet, and to fall in love instantly. She had expected it to be easy, simple, obvious; for the emotions to feel comfortable and natural at once; for the two of them- she herself, and the Dream Man- to be totally open with each other about their feelings from the start.

Needless to say, what she got was a little different.

She had indeed not needed to search in order to find him- he had fallen haphazardly into her life, as did sometimes happen in books- but he had been flustered and brusque and rude (although never to her, her mind insisted), and pretty soon he had got what he wanted and disappeared again. In fact, if it had not been for Winry, she might never have seen him again.

Her feelings had not seemed comfortable. Instead, her first few encounters with him had left her feeling totally confused, struck by his strangeness and his bizarre generosity and the forcefulness with which he had invaded her life- and also, of course, the way he looked. She had been startled and pleased, grateful and bewildered.

But most of all, she had wanted to see him again, and that was what had confused her the most.

He hardly fitted her image of the Dream Man, either. Her Dream Man was elegant and well-dressed and romantic and articulate and gallant and chivalrous, and probably a whole host of other things that Edward is not. (And as long as Scieszka is being honest with herself, she cannot deny that her imaginary Dream Man was _at least_ the same height as her.)

But then again, there are some things that fiction cannot hope to measure up to, and Scieszka knows that the sensations she feels when she looks at the vibrant golden-haired boy, and the knowledge that these feelings are mutual, and the assurance he gives her simply by _being_, are just a few of those things.


	4. Glasses

**Glasses**

He has, at last, finished his work for the day; she watches him as he leans back, rubs his face, blinks a number of times and says, groggily, "I can't focus my eyes properly . . ."

"You'll start needing glasses soon, if you carry on studying like this," she says, and thinks to herself that she did very well to say this so matter-of-factly, so that her voice barely registers the odd twist her heart makes at the words.

"What, you expect me to stop reading because of that?" he asks, with a hint of a joke in his expression.

She can see his point.

"I've been reading like this for most of my life, anyway," he says, standing and stretching his arms luxuriously above his head. "And I've never had any trouble so far."

"That's true . . ."

"Besides," and his arms drop back down to his sides as he looks at her over his shoulder, "I wouldn't really mind that much anyway. I think glasses look really good."

She blushes at this, the pink flush spreading across the bridge of her nose, and she almost doesn't hear him when he turns his face away and says gruffly, quietly, the backs of his ears glowing red, "That is, they always do on you."

* * *

_Author's notes: More shameless fluff. I'm hopeless, I really am._

_Once again, really short. -.- Why do I even bother trying to write longer stories?_


	5. Approval

**Approval**

Ed realises suddenly, in an unprecedented flash of insight, that it is probably a very good thing that Al and Winry have already met Scieszka- indeed, that she and Winry have already struck up a surprisingly close friendship. After all, if he had started seeing someone entirely unknown to them, the girl in question would have been subject to much wariness and suspicion from his brother and his mechanic alike, and certainly would not have been fully accepted into the group for several months, during which she would most likely have been under constant scrutiny. They might even have devised some sort of covert assessment, as a way for the girl to prove herself worthy. The whole process would have been immensely embarrassing for all concerned, and he is not sure that the girl would consider him worth the humiliation. All the same, it would have been unavoidable: Al finds it difficult to imagine anyone ever being good enough for his elder brother. Ed knows this all too well, and it is this knowledge that prevented him from telling Al about Scieszka earlier.

However, Winry, he knows, trusts and respects the shy bookish girl- and Al has faith in Winry's judgement where he does not trust his brother.

So, as he stands upright in the kitchen and tells them, only slightly waveringly, that actually, now that you mention it, he _has_ started seeing someone, he thinks that maybe there is a slight possibility that Al will approve after all.

* * *

_Author's notes: This installment marks the halfway point of this series. :O_


	6. Gratitude

**Gratitude**

She can't help but feel secretly thrilled when, on one of his ever-more-frequent visits to the small suburban library where she works, he approaches her desk and offers to walk her home after her work is finished. It is nearly closing time and already lamps are being lit outside, which is one of the reasons why she is so pleased to be offered the chance of having her boyfriend as an escort- it is getting dark, and despite herself she feels nervous at the prospect of walking home alone at this time. However, an equally significant source of her delight is how charmed she feels by the gallantry of the gesture. She has, after all, never been able to resist old-fashioned romance.

So she accepts with grace, entering into the charade with a genteel bow of her head and a tiny blush; and when she descends the steps of the library after all the candles have been put out and the windows locked, to see him waiting for her on the pavement, she almost expects him to bow, or to offer her his arm, or something of the sort.

When he merely nods his head in acknowledgement before turning abruptly and walking away down the street so that she almost has to jog to catch up with him, she is naturally a little disappointed.

For a while they walk in silence at the same brisk pace, which makes her feel red and silly and out of breath. Soon, however, he glances over at her and realises that he is walking too fast; he slows considerably, until they are almost strolling.

"Thank you," she says after a while.

Apparently jolted out of thought, his gaze snaps across to her face. "What for?"

"For walking me home. I appreciate it," she says, and smiles at him.

He gives a noise almost akin to a grunt.

"Why do you always do that?" she asks. She can't help herself.

He seems startled. "What?"

". . . You're always shrugging off people's gratitude," she says. She can't explain why she mentioned it. The thought just came to her.

He stares at her for a short while- and then a strange expression slides over his features.

And then all of a sudden her back is pressed up against the wall, and there is a hot sharp mouth covering her own, and there is a cold metal hand at the base of her spine, and a warm flesh one on the back of her neck.

For a brief, very rational second, she is overcome with a flurry of suppressed panic. After all, they are in public, in the middle of the street for goodness' sake, and who knows whose house wall they are currently leaning against, and her hair is getting messed up and her clothes are rumpled and _oh god_ the night air is cold on her stomach-

But then the kiss, previously so strong and forceful, abruptly turns, and it becomes startlingly, unexpectedly tender, and despite all appearances his lips are soft and his hands gentle on her skin . . .

After a period of time longer than she would have thought possible, he breaks away, although he remains standing close to her- so close that she can feel his body heat.

"You're welcome."


	7. Height

**Height**

It is a sensitive subject with him, everyone knows. She has personally witnessed the explosive reaction he has whenever he suspects that someone is trying to imply something- _anything_- about his stature, and she has no desire to be on the receiving end of it. Whenever they go out together, she tries to bend her knees as far as she can without appearing ridiculous, in a subtle attempt to reduce the height difference between them and prevent it from coming to the attention of passers-by- even a stare or a whispered comment to a companion, in all likelihood entirely innocent, can be enough to set him off.

Often the measures she takes to prevent this from happening do not work. In these cases, the responsibility of calming him down and reducing the amount of carnage he creates lies firmly with her. She is rather good at it, in fact- not as good as Al, whose ability to physically restrain his elder brother whilst simultaneously soothing him with calming words is impossible to equal- but good enough that his ranting slows or completely ceases at her touch or the sound of her voice, leaving the two of them standing, with him red-faced and breathing heavily, in the street, which will usually be completely empty of people by this stage.

He will mutter a few angry nothings beneath his breath, and she will murmur soothingly in response.

Then he will realise once again that he needs to lean _upwards_ in order to kiss her.

"I'm still growing, you know!" he says invariably after this.

And, despite that fact that this proclamation grows less plausible every time he says it, she puts her hand gently on his arm and agrees.


	8. Library

**Library**

The library is dark and silent, the last few candles guttering low and feeble among bulging splashes and drips of wax. Outside, men move between pools of lamplight that dapple the street with yellow; she watches them through the dirty glass of the windows as her hands turn and shift stacks of paper. It has been half an hour since the last person left; she sits alone at her desk in the fading candlelight half-heartedly juggling papers, and subconsciously slowing her own movements down to delay the moment when she will have to return to her cold empty house.

After a few minutes, when all the papers have been filed away, she no longer has any real excuse to remain at her desk- she stands, making her way down the shady alleyways created by the bookcases, straightening the books on the shelves and rearranging them, picking up discarded and incorrectly placed volumes and returning them to their rightful position, all the while moving at a slow, almost sluggish pace. While she meanders aimlessly around, the candles gradually burn themselves out one by one, leaving nothing more than a last dying sputter and a fat puddle of wax behind them, until none remain alight save the one she carries in her hand.

There is a strange sound by her ear, almost like a small light gust of air, and then this light too is extinguished.

And all of a sudden there are two warm arms around her, and a chin resting just barely on her shoulder, and a whole soft body pressed up against her back, and hot rasping breath in her ear.

"I'm sorry for leaving," he says.

* * *

_Author's notes: Sorry for the late update. :( I've been away._


	9. Answer

**Answer**

It is the first time Scieszka has seen Winry since she became pregnant; she stares openly at the blonde girl's stomach, straining ever-so-slightly against the thin material of her shirt. Winry smiles, clearly unruffled, and places both hands lightly upon the subtle bulge as Scieszka fights her flustered way through the typical congratulations.

A long excited conversation follows, once the formalities are out of the way, when the two women exchange questions for answers, and Scieszka becomes up-to-date with various pregnancy-related happenings. Both of the Elric brothers remain silent throughout this, standing still and observing; they swap glances every so often, their facial expressions ranging from amusement to boredom to sympathy.

Eventually, Winry and Scieszka appear to decide that they have caught up with recent events in each other's lives enough to suffice for now, and they fall silent at last- although Scieszka still shoots small, disbelieving looks in the direction of Winry's stomach. Al hesitates for a moment, taking a while to ensure that the conversation has truly ended, before turning a little to look directly at his brother and Scieszka, who stand side by side. "So how are you?" he says.

Scieszka smiles, and Ed moves his arm to wrap snugly around her waist, and that is all the answer that Al needs.

* * *

_Author's notes: The penultimate chapter. :O_


	10. Only Natural

**Only Natural**

"Edward!"

". . ."

"We thought you were dead!"

". . ."

"What happened to you?"

"Mmmmm . . ."

"Edward-! Are you listening to me?"

"Mmm?"

He stops- albeit reluctantly- and moves away a little, peering at her through dishevelled golden hair. His eyes open, and blink at her with curiosity.

"Where were you?"

He groans impatiently.

"Don't start . . .!" she says immediately, as his face begins to move towards hers again.

"Why'd you have to ask such a boring question?" he demands, putting his hands flat against the floor on either side of her and taking his weight on his elbows.

"It's not boring- it's important," she insists, taking the opportunity to slide backwards away from him.

He sighs, realising she is serious, and sits back on his heels. "Remember how I told you that Al and me were going away for a while?"

She nods.

"And that I thought we were onto something?"

Another nod.

"Well," he says, with the air of a person delivering a spectacular conclusion to a tale of momentous proportions, "we were."

This time she has to physically restrain him as he begins to crawl towards her again. "Wait a minute. What does that mean? Is Alphonse . . . are you . . . ?"

He just looks at her, pulls the glove off his right hand and wiggles the fingers at her.

Slowly, she takes his hand between her own and squeezes it silently for a moment, as if trying to warm it; as if it is hopelessly cold. She lowers her face until her breath skims over it, but says nothing.

Something small and wet splashes down onto his skin; he jumps violently. "Scieszka!"

"I'm alright," she says in a choked voice.

He scrambles over to her and puts his arms around her.

"I'm sorry. . ." she mumbles as he holds her. "I'm happy for you, really, it's just . . . I'm sorry. Carry on with what you were saying . . ."

"Al's in Risembool," he says, nose in her hair, looking at the wall over the top of her head, "with Winry. I'm sorry, but I . . . I stayed there for a bit, too. To . . . make sure he was okay."

She nods, although she knows that in all likelihood he too was resting and recovering whilst staying there. It is only natural.

"But I came back here as soon as I could, I swear I did. I wanted to see you."

She gulps in response.

It is as though his suppressed, numbed shock and relief is draining out of the room along with her tears; he lets out a long breath, and simply sits; they are quiet for a while, and he rocks her gently back and forth as she cries.

Until, a long time later, she shifts, sighs, moves away a little and looks up at him. Her eyes are red and her face still damp, but there is a certain sort of glow in her expression, and he cannot help it: he kisses her again, with a strange energy.

". . . Edward?" she says after a substantial pause.

"Mmm?"

". . . Never mind."

* * *

_Author's notes: Yay._

_The last chapter of this series. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. :3_


End file.
